


on gift-giving and states of undress

by jupiterjazzpartii



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Clothes, Crowley.exe has stopped working, Gift Giving, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterjazzpartii/pseuds/jupiterjazzpartii
Summary: Aziraphale crossed the room, gently took the offered bag and smiled so brightly and genuinely that Crowley panicked and thoughtoh, no,nowI’m going to pass out.“Oh! Oh Crowley, you shouldn’t have,” he started, then abruptly paused when he looked back up and noticed Crowley’s expression, “Good lord, what on Earth has gotten into you? Are you quite alright?”“Where are your clothes?” Crowley blurted out, then immediately cringed.or: crowley tries to give aziraphale a gift, and the angel shows some skin.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 178





	on gift-giving and states of undress

Crowley liked gifts.

Well. He liked giving gifts. To Aziraphale.

Something about the angel’s reaction to the gifts did wiggly things to Crowley’s stomach. Initially, when the world was new and his pattern of gift-giving only just beginning, he thought this an error with his corporation. Some sort of demonic indigestion. He had seen a particularly lovely bloom in the desert, plucked and pocketed it, then later handed it to the angel during one of their brief run-ins. The resulting smile was almost blinding in its intensity. If that wasn’t bad enough, Aziraphale stuck the flower behind his ear and it remained there for the extent of their evening. Just a glance at the purple bloom made his stomach clench and feel strangely light at the same time, and he thought _oh bugger, they’ve gone and updated it to where we can get ill now?_ Then, as time went on and more gifts were given and thus more shy smiles were exchanged, he realized that it was not, in fact, a general issue with his corporation, and was, in fact, a physical symptom of what knowing he was the cause of Aziraphale’s joy did to his heart*. The revelation was deeply troubling, so Crowley resolved to ignore it and not plan for any more gifts in the future.

_*He did not attempt to label this emotion._

This plan was unsuccessful and thrown out the window the moment he met with the angel again, who’s reaction to Crowley making _Hamlet_ a success for him was so wonderful, the demon had to have a good lie-down* after it.

_*Two year nap._

So, to celebrate the three day anniversary of saving the world and subsequently not being murdered by their former employers, he naturally bought the angel the fanciest chocolates this side of the channel* and invited himself to the bookshop. He planned on dropping by coolly, receiving his dose of serotonin from the angel’s reaction, maybe hang about and revel in the company, then dismiss himself to go back to his flat and plan for the next day’s gifts.

_*He briefly entertained the notion of miracling himself to Europe proper for varied sweets, but dismissed it almost as soon as it popped into his head as it seemed like a trip better taken with the angel himself._

“Angel! I’ve come bearing gifts!”

Crowley unlocked the door with a snap, sliding into the bookshop like he owned the place*, and was a bit put out when his angel wasn’t in his immediate line of sight.

_*He didn’t own it per se, but he would argue that after 200 years of helping Aziraphale purchase the shop, stocking and organizing inventory, and keeping customers away, it was a lot like co-parenting._

“Back here, dear,” came the distant chirp from somewhere in the backroom, “I wasn’t expecting you yet. Got quite lost in the Austens again, it seems.”

“Not a problem, I know how easily you lose track of time,” He nosed past the shelves, stepped into the backroom, and nearly dropped his bundle for the angel in his surprise.

There was Aziraphale, lounging* in his armchair with a book in his hands and his legs politely crossed. But that wasn’t quite _it_ . The angel was without his usual layers, his coat and waistcoat nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was dressed simply in his shirtsleeves and braces, bow tie loose and hanging around his neck and his top two buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms that the world likely hadn’t seen in centuries. Crowley was able to make out pale hair and light scatterings of freckles, which was honestly probably doing _too much_ for his imagination. Behind him, the afternoon sun created a golden glow upon his curls, making the whole scene even more picturesque.

_*Posing._

Crowley didn’t know how to politely bring up his companions state of undress. He also didn’t know how to _not_ bring it up. Instead of doing either, he stood silently in the doorway until Aziraphale looked up and furrowed his brow in concern. This seemed to snap the demon out of his daze, as he promptly shoved the treats towards the angel without actually stepping forward into the room.

“Ngh. Er. This’s for you. If you want.”

Aziraphale stood up and that was worse, because now the sunlight streaming in through the dusty windows behind him was casting him in a golden light and Crowley briefly thought that he might pass out.

Aziraphale crossed the room, gently took the offered bag and smiled so brightly and genuinely that Crowley panicked and thought _oh, no,_ now _I’m going to pass out._ “Oh! Oh Crowley, you shouldn’t have,” he started, then abruptly paused when he looked back up and noticed Crowley’s starstruck* expression, “Good lord, what on Earth has gotten into you? Are you quite alright?”

_*Or maybe seasick?_

“Where are your clothes?” Crowley blurted out, then immediately cringed and attempted to save it, “I mean, you’re not wearing your coat. Or your vest. And your tie is undone.” After stubbornly refusing to actually look at the angel, he glanced down, once again noticing the revealed forearms. He blushed furiously, weakly finishing with, “And… your… arms?”

“My… arms?” Aziraphale made a show of looking down as if just noticing his appearance*.

_*He was doing a very good job at pretending that this wasn’t all planned well in advance.**_

_**Or rather, Crowley was too distracted to notice the angel’s smug aura._

Crowley’s higher brain functions seemed to cease and the most he could formulate in response was a vague hand gesture followed by, “They’re just. Out there. Aren’t they.”

Aziraphale smiled and offered Crowley a gentle pat on the arm. “That they are. It’s a bit warm today* so I figured I’d cope with it the human way, remove a few layers. Please, feel free to come in and sit for a while. I’ll pour some wine for us. Unless you’ve got something else planned tonight…?” He paused and tilted his head**, waiting for a response.

_*It wasn’t, really._

_**Greatly resembling an adorable dog._

“Nope, nah, nowhere to be. Not me. Uh. Got nothing on. Just wanted to pop over and see how your day’s been. Wine’s great.” Having had his whole plot thrown off course, Crowley figured the next best thing would be to sit here and quietly admire his angel’s sudden change of style*. So he sauntered further into the backroom and deposited himself on the ancient loveseat, hoping that he gave off a _cool, calm, collected_ vibe as he rearranged his limbs. Aziraphale’s answering grin had him trying not to preen too obviously under the attention.

_*He was very, very grateful for the sunglasses hiding his wandering gaze._

“Oh, marvelous! Back in a tick!”

Truthfully, Crowley can’t say what was going on in his head for the duration of the angel’s absence. It was a complete shutdown, reboot process. He tried to regain control of his corporation, which had decided to begin sweating and blushing without permission upon seeing the angel. By the time Aziraphale returned, he was still staring blankly ahead. Then the angel gently placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of him and he snapped back to reality. Aziraphale settled in next to him on the loveseat, rather than in his usual armchair, and sipped from his own glass.

That’s when he noticed it. The third button. The third button from the top on Aziraphale’s shirt, which had formerly been buttoned, was now open. This button, Crowley wagered, was almost definitely, one hundred percent, buttoned previously. He was sure of it. Now, with the angel’s loose neckline and displayed forearms, was more pale skin on display than he’d seen in millenia. It was overwhelming, like being raised on light beers and then suddenly having three shots of tequila shoved upon you. He could clearly see the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat, the tendons in his neck, a brief peek of collarbone when the angel shifted. It was _doing something_ to the poor demon.

So entranced was he by this mysteriously unbuttoning shirt, he hadn’t realized Aziraphale had been recounting his day until his rant was nearly over.

“... and so it took nearly thirty minutes but I was finally able to get the women to clear out. Lord, they were a persistent bunch! I’m telling you dear, you would have found it hilarious though.” He chuckled, an airy and light-hearted sound, and Crowley’s gut did somersaults.

“Oh, but I forgot!” Aziraphale cried, “The chocolates!”

Aziraphale reached for the forgotten bag, popped a chocolate into his mouth and let out what was, frankly, an obscene moan. Crowley, who was normally used to his angel’s food-related outbursts but decidedly thrown off-course by everything that had happened the moment he had stepped into the bookshop, slapped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a very quiet _ngk_ of appreciation.

“My dear,” the angel began around a mouthful of chocolate, “You’ve outdone yourself this time. These are delicious, you simply must have a taste.”

Unable to truly deny his angel anything, Crowley nodded, “Yeah, sure.” He reached toward the bag, only to be stopped by the angel gently grabbing his wrist. Crowley paused and looked up, quizzically and found the angel staring back with a determined expression.

Then, without further ado, Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him. For a moment, Crowley stayed still, unsure if he was hallucinating* or not. Then his brain kicked into gear and he kissed back, grasping the front of Aziraphale’s shirt to pull him closer, kiss him deeper. It could have been minutes, hours, weeks that passed. In the dingy backroom of an ancient bookshop, two immortal beings, free from all their binds, embraced for the first time.

_*Being a demon blessed (cursed?) with imagination and cursed (blessed?) with an affinity for an angel meant that said angel was conjured into his dreams far too often.**_

_**Aziraphale in Crowley’s imagination usually wore more layers than the angel presently was, though. Usually._

When they broke apart, both beings were out of breath, despite not truly needing to breathe. The silence between them was not awkward, as it was teeming with unsaid things.

Aziraphale, who had quite enough of holding back his emotions, thank you very much, broke this silence readily, “I cannot tell you how long I’ve been hoping to be able to do that.”

“Wow. That was. I. What?”

“I find myself rather in love with you, Crowley.” Aziraphale had a habit of stating world-shifting things very matter-of-factly, and this was no exception. It was like he had no idea his effect on Crowley*.

_*He did._

“ _What?_ ” came the shrill reply.

“I was trying to tempt you, honestly. I thought maybe showing some skin would fluster you enough into finally kissing me, but it seems my plan worked _too_ well.” He frowned. “I thought I broke you, for a moment there. It went horribly awry when all you did was stare at my neck and sweat.”

Crowley recovered a bit of his cool, and tried for a bit more suavity in his response, “So sorry to thwart you, angel. We could try again? Don’t think I got too good a taste that first time around.” The demon removed his glasses, placing them on the table in front of them and trying his best to ignore the tremble in his hands. He then pulled Aziraphale back in, resolving to snog him senseless.

That is, until Aziraphale’s comment fully registered.

“Wait,” he panted, “How did you know I was staring at your neck?”

“I’ve known you for six thousand years, Crowley. I think I can track your gaze behind some silly sunglasses.”

“Ah, fuck.”

The next interruption came when Aziraphale had cupped Crowley’s face with a gentleness he’d never experienced before, and his heart swelled with love so strong he had to pull back, untangle himself from the angel’s roaming lips, to stare into the love of his life’s eyes and declare*: “I love you too, you know.”

_*Quite dramatically._

“I do.” Aziraphale smiled and peppered soft kisses along his demon’s face as he continued, “I’ve felt it in the gifts that you give me, and the things you do for me. You helped stop the destruction of the world for me, you beautiful creature. I’d have to be well and truly blind to miss your love and devotion. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For loving me, you silly serpent.”

It wasn’t until much, much later*, curled around his angel that Crowley registered yet another piece of the evening.

_*Several makeout sessions unbecoming of creatures their age later, I mean really, what are you guys, teenagers?_

“So you _did_ go off and unbutton your shirt!”

“Yes, dearheart. I could have miracled the wine at any point.”

**Author's Note:**

> so that was a thing
> 
> i have never had a consistent tone once in my life. please enjoy my second actual finished fanfiction and feel free to make fun of me over @ billandtedsexcellentgaymarriage on tumblr x


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